Day 8: I, of the Grain—a quatern published in The Rat's Ass Review #NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth

Demeter, Copyright 2013-2014 HoneyJadeCrab from DeviantArt

Happy to announce that on this Day 8 of National Poetry Month, my quatern about Demeter, goddess of the harvest, entitled I, of the Grain has been published in The Rat's Ass Review. Many thanks to Roderick Bates for selecting it. You can read it here!

Demeter is the food bringer, the law bearer, the mark of agriculture upon civilized society. She's not to be trifled with. She is in charge. I imagine her as a goddess who provides swift punishment if her strict rules are not carried out to her exacting specifications. Don't bite the hand that feeds you.

A quatern is a French form with a refrain. 16 lines of 4 quatrains. Each line is 8 syllables. The first line serves as the refrain and migrates to the second line in the second quatrain, the third in the third, and the fourth and last line in the fourth. There are no particular rules for rhyme or meter. Play with it, and post your results in the comments section so I too can enjoy the fruits of your labor!

Day 7: Order Up! —#NaPoWriMo #30in30 #NationalPoetryMonth

Mr. Breakfast Face

There is some ridiculously delightful pancake art out there.  So many faces! Some are intentional like this lovely Mr. Breakfast Face here. Others evidently are crafted to perfection through divine intervention, like when Jesus' face made an appearance on a California pancake (and also a piece of naan at a curry house in Essex. He gets around.)

This all got me thinking about what kind of pancake I would be, if I were so lucky.

Order Up!

I am a pancake in need of frequent flipping.
Leave me to cook too long and I 
burn and harden on one side
and remain soft and raw on the other.
With the proper amount of attention
I don't need buttering up.
I don't need any syrup.

Day 6: a diamante for my sister and her new baby—#NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth #30in30

Day 6: I have a new nephew today! My sister gave birth to a healthy baby boy this evening and in honor of them both, here's a little diamante. Congratulations!

mother

kind compassionate

nurture grow attend

pain laughter pleasure adventure

explore attempt lie

selfish innocent

child

Day 5: spring haiku #NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth #30in30

Cherry blossoms at Lewis & Clark College, Portland, Oregon

Day 5 will be a simple haiku.

I know what you're thinking:

5—7—5

Anyone can write a haiku, right?

Yep. Right. Anyone can. But a good one?

 Did you know that haiku are traditionally written in the present tense and play with associations between images. They also contain a pause at the end of the first or second line as well as a kigo—a seasonal word that signals the time of year.

Here's mine for today:

sakura petals
carpet the pathway towards home
even in the rain

Haiku are simple, aren't they? Simple yet profound. Write one. Share it with me.

Day 4: Fickle Tease—my thoughts on April #NaPoWriMo #NationalPoetryMonth

Salmon River Hike

In T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland," Eliot famously called April "the cruelest month." This might seem unfair to some, but I think it's spot-on. You can be cruel without knowing it. The NaPoWriMo Day 4 challenge is "to write a poem in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and why." I'm all too happy to explain it to you.

April can be gorgeous. Just look at these pictures from a hike I just took with friends near Mt. Hood. How can I not be seduced by the power vested in spring? Oh, but April can be flighty and capricious! Difficult for me to accept and understand. And I won't even talk about taxes. What a let-down!

A trickle

Fickle Tease

April stinks of dirt and wet dogs
leaves blossoms on the ground like used gym shorts

April is too young to show his colors
to bleed petals and face all that the wind has in store 

April needs a hand to hold to tease
he doesn't yet understand his orientation

April texts you madly
then goes quiet

April says he'll be right over you take your clothes off and wait—
he doesn't show up

What's your "cruelest month?" Why? Share in the comments.

Day 2: Family Portraits— 2 cinquains #NaPoWriMo Day 2

My grandparents, before deployment, WWII

 Look at this photo. The gorgeous knockout and that strapping young soldier are my grandparents.

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt challenges us to "write a poem that takes the form of a family portrait."

I wrote two. One for each of these people who are larger than life to me.

The thought of encapsulating all that they are and everything they mean to me in one poem is laughable. Instead, I offer up small, quick brushstrokes that only hint at the full picture.

One cinquain for my beloved grandfather who passed away with honor and dignity after his final battle with an unfair opponent: Alzheimer's.

Grandpa,
remember this?
Thick vats of chocolate fudge
we stirred each Christmas when you still
knew us?

And one for my grandmother, the delight of my life, who is 93 and underwent heart surgery this week. I spoke with her tonight and she sounded so good, if understandably tired. Before surgery, she mentioned to me that one of her children told her she has to stick around; she's the glue. With 7 children, 28 grandchildren, and 35 great-grandchildren, I know of no stronger bonding agent than Mary McBride. But I want her to lighten her load and unburden her with this wondrous truth:

Grandma,
recognize this—
you joined us together.
Showed us all how to be glue. We
adhere!

 Together, my grandparents taught us how to love each other unconditionally, laugh together, cry together, and sally forth no matter what comes our way. Through an act of grace and molecular physics, I landed in this united, adoring family. I could not ask for more. My cup is full. Thank you Grandma. Thank you, Grandpa.

My grandparents and their beautiful children

Stalker's Lament—sonnet #NationalPoetryMonth

"I Want You," the ballad of a creep, first debuted on this album.

Has anyone ever shown way too much interest in you? Has anyone ever treated you as an object rather than as a human?  Without going into the particulars, I can tell you that one such hollow manchild wanted me for his trinket. On a campus of thousands, he invaded my real estate. He routinely followed me into the dining hall and sat down next to me uninvited. He waited for me in the corridor to the restroom I used after Philosophy 101 each Tuesday and Thursday. Once, he crept out of some laurel hedges near the gym to surprise me. He crawled into the corner of my eye.

One night, while listening to the original Napoleon Dynamite in my (locked) dorm room,  "I Want You" came on for the millionth time. But I heard it for the first time.

Somehow this time I understood the desperate nature of the lyrics and how they eerily applied to this creepy dude. It finally clicked that his attentions were not indicative of affection. In fact, they were 180 degrees shy of respect and headed due north for danger. Stunned, I tried to shake him.

Remembering this, I imagined what the thoughts of today's paranoid obsessive freshman might look like in the form of a Shakespearean sonnet.* I don't know why. It just seemed like the thing to do.

Stalker's Lament

Why do I think to text you every day?
It is because you really should be here.
When I return, I'll make sure you will stay.
To lose you once again would tweak my fear.
Your face appears with every bud I smoke.
Your scent pervades each room like piny wood
you said goodbye 'for good' when we last spoke
you needed space and 'hoped I understood.'
I'll grasp the slippery string of your balloon
give up heart and soul as weights for ballast
Don't float away; I'll pluck you from the moon
and claw you back to Earth with fingers calloused.
You disappeared as quickly as a dream.
I'll capture you in videos I stream.

*Shakespearean sonnets are insanely fun to write (not only when writing from the vantage point of a disturbed mind!)  14 lines composed of three quatrains and a rhyming couplet. Iambic pentameter. The couplet often serves as an epiphany. It usually arrives in the form of a conclusion, amplification, or even refutation of the previous three stanzas. Write one and pretend you're the Bard himself.